


summer song

by ordanary



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: I don’t even know, M/M, dan playing the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordanary/pseuds/ordanary
Summary: It’s a bag of milk that brings Phil into the grocery store, however it’s a quiet boy behind a piano and the beautiful song he plays that makes Phil want to come back.





	summer song

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, this kinda sucks.

Phil’s phone buzzed, moving a bit on the hard surface in front of him and snapping him out of his sleepy and dazed state. When the device continued to make the annoying noise, Phil flipped the screen, pressing the ‘answer’ button when he saw his mum’s familiar contact name pop up.

“Hi, mum,” he answered, somehow managing to sound even more bored than he really was. 

“Hello, Child!” she responded cheerily. “What are you up to right now?”

Phil heaved a sigh, tapping his fingers lightly against the white wood of his desk. “Oh nothing, just sitting here in complete and utter boredom. I’ve got nothing to do, mum.”

Through the receiver he heard Kath click her tongue in annoyance. “Philip Lester, it’s summer time! Why don’t you go out and play at the park, or go to the beach?”

“Uh, maybe because I’m sixteen and not six,” he scoffed. “There’s nothing here to do except stare at the wall all day and be bored!”

Phil and his family had just moved houses in the spring, meaning that the lazy Lester Clan had still neglected to unpack most of their possessions which had resulted in their new painfully minimalistic home. 

“Well then you might be pleased to hear that I’m calling because I actually do have something for you to do,” Kath countered.

Phil rolled his eyes, assuming it was either an errand to run or a neighbor’s dog to walk, both things that he did not want to do. 

“What is it, then?”

“I need you to run to the store for me and grab some milk. Can you do that, please?” 

“But I’m lactose–“ 

“No, lactose intolerance doesn’t mean you can’t handle a bag of milk. Go on, Phil. There’s some money in the utilities drawer,” Kath spoke, busting him in the act of using his stupid lactose intolerant body as an excuse. Well, it was worth a try. 

Phil sighed. “Fine. Bye, mum,” he grumbled before hanging up the phone, shoving the small device into his back pocket and heading down the stairs to the the Lester family’s rather empty kitchen. He shuffled through the one utility drawer they possessed, moving things around until he came across a small notepad with the money his mother had mentioned sticking out the side. Putting on a pair of shoes and pushing a hand through his sweaty, black hair, he then headed out the door, shoving the money in his back pocket.

The nearest and, conveniently for Phil, also the smallest grocery store in town was at least a twenty minute walk from his house. Remembering this made him wonder if they didn't really need milk after all, and if maybe his mum had just sent him on this forty minute journey around the smouldering hot town for her own amusement. Either way, he wasn’t happy about it. Right now he could be better spending his time staring at that one crack in his ceiling, or bouncing his ball of rubber bands off of his creaky wooden floor, both things he deemed more enjoyable than walking outside in weather like this. 

The heat was actually beginning to become unbearable, the intensity of it all making the distance to the store seem further and further with every step, until suddenly, like a mirage, it was right in front of him. 

Phil paused his steps, looking at the small two story building before him and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. In the midst of the eerily silent neighbourhood he stood in, he strained his ears to hear what sounded like the soft, melodic tune of a piano being played, it’s chords drifting through the humid July air around him. The music was quiet, the source seeming so close and yet too far to be real. 

So yes, he the heat was definitely getting to him. 

Shaking it off and picking up his pace again, Phil pushed open the door of the grocery store, the bell overhead chiming as he entered the modestly sized space, earning him a wave of acknowledgement from the bored looking cashier. To his luck, the air conditioning in this place seemed to be working wonders, though he figured it would have to in order to keep all of the produce cold and fresh to at least some extent. Regardless, it was refreshing and if it hadn’t been for the eerie piano then Phil might’ve considered staying a while longer than he’d anticipated for no other reason than to escape the heat. 

The further Phil ventured down the aisles, the more the piano seemed to intensify, however its source was still nowhere in sight. He briefly wondered if the lovely music was maybe coming from the speaker system above, but it sounded far too . . . was ‘real’ the word he was looking for? The piano’s calming tune drifted through the cool air in a constant stream of melody, exquisite chords and carefully arranged notes making for the perfect sound track to whatever heat-induced fever dream Phil was currently experiencing. 

With a quick glance around at his surroundings, Phil didn’t seem to spot a refrigerator anywhere where the milk might be kept. On a mission to find the reason he’d come here in the first place and leave as soon as possible, he tried his best to ignore the now quickening speed of the ghost-like piano, though any and all of his efforts were lost when he reached the checkout counter. 

“Um, Excuse me, but do you know where I’d find the milk?” Phil asked the lady on duty. The aforementioned smacked obnoxiously on her minty gum, looking at Phil with eyes even more bored and displeased than his own, which was a hard feat to accomplish in itself. 

“Up in the loft,” the lady –‘Gloria’, read her name tag– spoke, pointing a stubby finger at what Phil assumed was a set of stairs behind him, but he didn’t bother to look. 

He asked his next question quietly and quickly, leaning in a bit as if to avoid any suspicion from the whopping zero other people in the grocery store. 

“And do you hear the piano, too?” He whispered, fully aware that he sounded completely mad.

Gloria’s reaction to that question definitely confirmed Phil’s hypothesis that he was insane, what with the way she arched a brow in surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?” She asked, just as quietly as Phil had previously spoken. 

Phil nodded, “Yeah.”

She slowly rose her arm from the counter again, pointing at the loft behind Phil for the second time that afternoon. 

Phil turned around, following the path of Gloria’s finger until his blue eyes landed on the source of the not so mysterious music. 

Up in the loft was a boy, probably around Phil’s age, with straightened brown hair and perfect posture sat at a large, white grand piano. The structure was higher up that a usual loft, giving the building the illusion of having two complete stories from the outside and explaining why Phil hadn’t seen the boy or his piano at first glance. 

Phil smiled awkwardly at the cashier before mumbling a ‘thank you’ and beginning his nervous advance toward the staircase he’d somehow managed to completely miss the first time round. 

When he reached the very top of the stairs, Phil stood in silence and watched the boy play the seemingly never ending melody, until there was an abrupt stop in the music, the boy’s large hands hovering over the keys as he hesitated to continue, biting his lip and furrowing his brows. He seemed to be completely oblivious to Phil’s presence behind him, where the sixteen year old stood in his abandoned quest for milk. 

“That was beautiful,” Phil commented aloud when the itch to compliment the boy’s skills became too urgent to ignore. 

The boy turned his whole body in his seat, giving Phil a slightly confused look that slowly grew into a shy smile, an only slightly noticeable blush creeping up his neck. 

“Thank you,” replied the boy. “I just can’t figure out how to play the ending.”

Phil smiled, leaning against the rail of the loft. “That sucks. I’m Phil, by the way,” he spoke, returning the boy’s kind smile. 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Phil. I’m Dan,” said the boy.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Dan. And you’re really talented, by the way.”

Dan’s blush spread to his cheeks, making him look a bit younger than he probably was. “That’s really sweet, thank you,” said Dan once more. “Would you like to come sit down? There’s plenty of space,” he offered with a genuine smile. 

To his own surprise, Phil accepted the boy’s offer, pushing off of the railing and taking a seat next to Dan on the long bench.

“What was that song called? The one you were playing?” Asked Phil as he looked down at the worn piano keys before him, ones that Dan’s long fingers had been sprawled out across not minutes earlier.

Dan shrugged, pressing down on a random key and waiting for the ringing note to die out before answering Phil’s question. 

“It doesn’t really have a name yet. I’m still deciding,” he explained.

“Wait.” Phil raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, impressed. “You wrote that?”

Dan bit his lip to stop himself from grinning. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I’m really proud of it, too.”

“You should be!” Phil exclaimed. “It’s amazing!” The boy beside him beamed, eyes crinkling and dimples appearing in the divets of his soft cheeks. “So,” Phil continued. “Your song has no name yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve been calling it my Summer Song, though. I started writing it the day school got out,” Dan explained. 

Phil nodded. “Summer Song,” he repeated. “I like that.” 

“Me too, but it sounds a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes cliché is nice,” replied Phil. 

Dan smiled softly at the keys below him. “Okay.”

As much as the tune had seemed haunting and strange when he didn’t know its source, Phil missed it now that Dan had stopped playing. “Could you play it again?” He asked the boy nervously. 

Dan didn’t respond vocally but nodded instead, spreading his fingers about on the keyboard and beginning the song once more. 

A multitude of notes and chords strung together to create the familiar melody as Dan’s large yet slender fingers danced gracefully across the keys in their seemingly effortless and rehearsed order. Phil found himself subconsciously leaning in closer to Dan as the latter played his own composition without any difficulty, his eyes focused and posture strong. 

Phil listened to him play until he felt a startling buzz in his back pocket which he recognized as his phone ringing. Dan seemed to notice the buzzing too, halting his playing as Phil sent him an apologetic glance and lifted the device to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Phil,” his mum answered. “Did you go out and get the milk or do I need to swing by the grocery store after work?”

Phil internally face palmed. Right, the milk. He was supposed to be getting the milk. 

“I’m actually on my way home right now,” he lied, still sat at the piano’s bench. 

When Kath spoke next, she sounded relieved. Impressed, even. “Oh! Well hurry on home, then. Thank you, Child.”

“You’re welcome, mum. I’ve gotta go now, though. I’ll see you at home.” 

He hung up, then, turning to Dan who was looking up at him curiously and swaying side to side slightly. “Do you have to go?” Dan asked. 

Phil frowned, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. My mum sent me here for milk, but will you be here tomorrow?”

Dan rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting at Phil’s question. “Yes, and every other day this summer.”

Phil returned the boy’s gesture before standing from the bench and moving towards the fridge where he’d spotted the milk. “I’ll be here, too, then. If that’s alright with you.” Phil proposed tentatively as he pulled the milk from the refrigerator. 

“It’s very alright with me.”

As Phil walked home, Dan’s Summer Song continued to play over and over in his head, but this time he didn’t want it gone. 

Something about that piano, the boy sat behind it, and the song the boy played all had Phil in some sort of a trance as he made his way through his house and up the stairs to his bedroom, humming along to the elegant melody as he went. 

Phil didn’t get much sleep that night as his brain was too preoccupied, piano filling the space where dreams would normally take place, but when he did, it was Dan and his Summer Song that he dreamed of.

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats if you actually made it through this. You can reblog on tumblr if you’d like (@ordanary), but you don’t have to.


End file.
